


right side up or upside down

by taetaetiger (sexyvanillatiger)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Body Swap, Fluff, M/M, Romantic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-22 23:37:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4854941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyvanillatiger/pseuds/taetaetiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chanyeol wakes with a start on the day of his exchange. He's been anticipating this day since boyhood, and he's got a lot of expectations. (The least of which is a language barrier.)</p><p>Yixing holds his breath and keeps his eyes closed when he wakes up. <i>Let us make the most of this exchange</i>, he had written. He isn't sure if he's ready to be awake yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chanyeol Wakes With a Start

Chanyeol wakes with a start. His heart is thundering, and he isn't sure if it's his excitement or the exchange. He sits up too fast and his head rushes, vision fading, but that doesn't stop him from trying to get out of bed. It doesn't go well. First, his legs get tangled in the sheets; it seems that his soulmate is a sprawling, restless sleeper. He fights the bedding for a moment, still a little bit dizzy, and when he manages to get his feet on the floor, he swoons until he bumps into the bedside table. While he balances on it, waiting for his senses to settle, he takes a moment to marvel at how tall it is. His vision returns and his dizziness abates, and Chanyeol realizes that the table isn't all that tall after all. In fact, he's quite short.

Or maybe not short. Chanyeol has a very poor gauge for these things. He thinks that his soulmate _could_ be very short, because he has very small, delicate hands, but everything is bound to feel short from where he normally stands. He gives out a full, hearty laugh at the though of his soulmate fumbling around in his own gangly body back home, and all at once, he's shocked with himself. His soulmate's voice is high and melodic, and his laugh is beautiful. Chanyeol falls in love with it instantly and vows to laugh as many times today as he can, just to hear it again.

He pushes off from the bedside table and turns, observing the room around him. It's not small, but it's not large either. It's bigger than Chanyeol's bedroom, though that's not some great accomplishment at this juncture in his life. He appreciates the relative neatness of the room, how beneath the small layer of clutter, everything has a place. The middle of the floor is clear, though there's an overflowing dirty clothes hamper in the corner. The furniture looks like it came as a set, all painted-white wood. The bedding, on the other hand, look mismatched, and there are no mirrors that Chanyeol can see. He wanders out into a short hallway, finds a closet on his first guess, and a bathroom on his second. He pushes toward it, still stumbling over his shorter legs.

The moment he flips the lights on, Chanyeol's breath catches in his throat. When the shock passes, he smiles and he can't stop smiling. His soulmate is beautiful. Chanyeol ruffles his mousy, wavy hair; caresses his high cheeks; traces the long line of his nose. He puckers and bites his lips, taken with how full they are. How they feel beneath his tongue and teeth. His heart speeds up when he thinks about how it will feel to kiss them. He laughs again, overwhelmed with happiness, and the sound and sight of it makes him laugh harder.

He wanders through the rest of the apartment, reaching out to run his hands over everything. There are two knitted throws draped over the couch in the living room and one fluffy blanket folded on the coffee table. He fingers all of them, thrilled by how soft they all are despite how hot it is right now. There are dishes in the kitchen sink, but Chanyeol has a difficult time telling if they're clean or dirty at first because they've been thoroughly rinsed off. Chanyeol catches the time on the clock on the microwave, and he's surprised by how early it is. He isn't usually awake before ten, but it's only half past eight.

Chanyeol fumbles back through the apartment towards the bedroom, looking for a phone or a letter or _something_. He knows that there's a chance that his soulmate didn't have time to prepare for their exchange, that he might have to figure out who his soulmate is on his own, but a more thorough search of the apartment is worth it just in case he can find a clue to start.

Sure enough, on the very bedside table that caught him this morning, he finds his soulmate's phone, still plugged into its charger. He grabs it, noting the post-in note on the back, and it has the passcode written in arabic numerals. So his soulmate got his aura, too. Relieved, Chanyeol smiles and punches the passcode in quickly. The home screen assembles, and a beat too late, Chanyeol realizes that he doesn't understand what he's reading. The smile drops from his face like it's weighted. His stomach clenches, but not out of excitement or happiness anymore.

"Fuck," Chanyeol says in Korean, and his soulmate's mouth stumbles over the word until it comes out accented and garbled. "I don't speak Chinese." He swipes through the phone with a rising desperation, disbelief chilling him. He locks the screen and puts the phone down, tearing through the apartment with a singular purpose now. There has to be something in here that he can read, something meant for him, something that will tell him who his soulmate is. Or hell, even where Chanyeol is at this moment. He stops at the window in his search, glaring down at the crowded streets below, out to the buildings, and it doesn't look like any city he knows.

His search is brief. There's a handwritten letter, separated from a pile of mail on the kitchen table. It is also written in Chinese. Chanyeol purses his lips and puts in a very good effort towards patience. He manages to set the letter back down without crumpling it. Out of ideas for the moment, out of motivation, he sighs, slumping down into a seat, and admires his soulmate's penmanship. Neat, but not so much that the scrawl of his hand is uninteresting. Chanyeol thinks that if he could understand the characters, he would be much more appreciative.

After wallowing for a few minutes, Chanyeol retrieves the phone from the bedroom. He has some trouble at first figuring out how to get to his settings, but through an intuitive interpretation of app icons and a little bit of good guessing, he finally switches the phone over to Korean. He crows in excitement when he realizes that he understands the names of the apps, though his enthusiasm dims when he finds that contacts and text messages are still in Chinese.

Chanyeol sifts through the phone, finding mostly gaming apps, texts and emails that he can't read, and Chinese news. He pulls up maps and finds out that he's in Changsha, which doesn't hold very much meaning to him. It occurs to him to try a translating app to interpret the letter, but it only takes one sentence before he's giving up that endeavor. _It is in this that you are not a man in the morning, turn off an alarm clock._ Chanyeol sighs and returns to the bedroom to get dressed.

His soulmate has left clothes out for him on the dresser, and he inspects them before pulling them on. They're simple, just a tank top and jeans. Chanyeol thinks that if he were as well-muscled and proportionate as his soulmate, he would wear tank tops freely as well. He finds a pair of shoes that slip on instead of tie, and it only takes two runs around the apartment to find his keys and a wallet. He folds the letter and then pockets it, then the wallet and the phone before daring a venture out into the hallway. He's just figuring out what key fits into what lock when a neighbor comes out, greeting Chanyeol's soulmate in Chinese as he does.

Chanyeol fumbles, and the neighbor stops, frowning at him. He says something else in Chinese, and Chanyeol finally manages to croak out a weak, "Do you speak Korean?" in his own tongue. The neighbor's eyes widen with worry first, and then with excitement. He rattles off a few quick exclamations, none of which Chanyeol understands, and then reaches out to grab him. Chanyeol withholds himself from getting dragged off just long enough to lock his soulmate's door before they're walking to the elevator.

When they're inside, the neighbor holds out his hand and asks for something. Chanyeol just stares at him. The neighbor repeats himself, more slowly and a bit more loudly, and Chanyeol sighs, turning out his pockets. All he has is a wallet, a set of keys, a phone, and a letter. The neighbor takes the phone from him. He taps at the screen a few times before handing it back to Chanyeol, who realizes he's made a call. He looks up at the neighbor, bewildered, and the man makes a gesture toward his ear.

When Chanyeol brings the phone up, someone on the other line is already speaking in rapid-fire Mandarin. He gapes for a moment, frustration with the neighbor and whoever is on the phone rising like a flood. " _I don't speak Chinese_ ," he snaps at both of them. The man on the phone quiets for a moment, and then says in Korean,

"So it did happen."

Chanyeol startles so badly that he almost drops the phone. "Wait, do you understand me?" he asks, evoking laughter from the other man.

"Yes. So if you're not Yixing and you don't speak Chinese, how did you know to call me?"

For a moment, Chanyeol doesn't even register the question. His soulmate's name is Yixing. _Yixing_. It's a pretty name, fitting for his soulmate's pretty face. The man on the line calls out to him to get his attention, and Chanyeol jerks out of his daze with a start. "There's a neighbor," he says, looking at the man. Their elevator stops on several more floors as they descend, tenants slowly filing in, and the neighbor keeps him close by. "He dialed for me."

"Ah, good. So…you don't understand Chinese." The man clucks his tongue. It's not a question, and the way the man says it is frustrating. Chanyeol frowns, wishing the neighbor had called somebody a little more helpful.

"He wrote me a letter," he says instead.

"Yixing? Yeah, I know. He kept asking me what he should put in it. I could probably tell you what he said right now, just because of how much he talked about it yesterday."

Chanyeol breathes out heavily, his patience worn thin. He hates how this rude stranger seems to be so close to his soulmate, and that he sounds so casual about it. He wants to ask who this guy is, anyway, but then he thinks about the letter in his pocket and how the alternative might be wandering around the streets of a foreign city looking for someone who can translate it. "I want to know what the letter says," he mumbles after a moment, letting Yixing's neighbor lead him out of the elevator and into the hall.

"Are you still in his apartment?"

Chanyeol digs his heels into the floor, resisting the neighbor's pull. The neighbor looks back at him, mouthing something that he doesn't understand. "No. I mean sort of. We're still in the building, but we're at the bottom floor now. I'm not in the apartment."

"We?"

"I'm still with his neighbor—"

"Zhi Xiang?"

"Zhi Xiang?" Chanyeol repeats, frowning, and the neighbor lights up, nodding and pointing at himself. "Oh. Yeah, Zhi Xiang."

"Give him the phone."

Chanyeol does, handing it off with a shrug. Zhi Xiang takes it, speaking animatedly for a moment before becoming skeptical. He seems like a kind man, if somewhat of a strange one; somebody whose company Chanyeol would enjoy if he weren't stranded for a day in a foreign country. Zhi Xiang's voice is reluctant, almost whiny by the end of the conversation, but he hands the phone back to Chanyeol with a show of resignation, so when the man on the phone says, "I'm going to come pick you up," Chanyeol smiles his thanks.

"Okay."

"Zhi Xiang is going to stay with you until I get there. To make sure you don't do anything stupid while you're in Yixing's body."

That makes Zhi Xiang's whining a bit more reasonable. Chanyeol tries to look appropriately apologetic. Yixing's face is weird, though, and it doesn't pout the same way Chanyeol's own face does, so the end result is Zhi Xiang laughing at him hard enough to double over. It startles a few other people walking through the hall, and Chanyeol finds himself even less in control of Yixing's face. At least Zhi Xiang isn't scowling anymore.

"Okay. I'll be over as quick as I can. Bye."

Before Chanyeol can get the man's name, the call ends and he's left staring at the empty screen. Zhi Xiang is just managing to control his laughter, and he takes Chanyeol by the shoulder, leading him to the entrance of the apartment complex. There's a small overhang, thankfully, because even in the shade, Chanyeol is sweating. His empty stomach leaves him no more prepared to endure the heat than his tolerance for the slightly more reasonable summers in Seoul. Zhi Xiang is wearing a long-sleeve button down and doesn't seem to notice at all.

Chanyeol fidgets while they wait, troubled by the silence. Maybe if he were waiting by himself it wouldn't bother him, but there is someone right next to him who he knows is friendly, and every fiber of his being wants to strike up a conversation, his tongue already curling around a greeting when he remembers that the words will fall flat the moment he speaks them. He sighs and shifts his weight around repeatedly. Zhi Xiang, for his part, looks equally bored and embarrassed.

Chanyeol is waiting for a car, but the man from the phone call comes on foot, and he doesn't come alone. Zhi Xiang greets them amicably, and that's how Chanyeol recognizes them. They both look deceptively kind, with pretty faces and mischievous eyes. Then the shorter one speaks Korean without an accent, asking Chanyeol about his home. Chanyeol is impressed until the man admits to also being Korean; Chanyeol doesn't get the chance to ask him more about that.

"So what's your name?" the taller one asks, inspecting Chanyeol like he'll see anything except Yixing.

"Chanyeol," he says, starting to put his hand out and then thinking better of it. The man knows this face, he knows this body. Shaking hands is for strangers. Chanyeol feels like a stranger, but he knows he doesn't look like one. The man's mouth twitches in amusement at the aborted gesture.

"I'm Lu Han," says the man from the phone call, "and this is Minseok." He nods towards the shorter man, who smiles serenely. Zhi Xiang jumps in, glancing at his watch and saying something quickly, and both Lu Han and Minseok respond kindly and fluently. Zhi Xiang waves to Chanyeol before darting off down the sidewalk. "Anyways," Lu Han says, "do you have the letter?"

"Yes." Chanyeol starts to pull it out, but Minseok stops him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Why don't we find somewhere to sit down first?"

Lu Han looks at Minseok with a glowing smile, and Chanyeol wants to roll his eyes. He doesn't because that's rude and he needs their help, but his impatience with this exchange is dulling him. He's spent his whole life craving what they're sharing right now, craving that bond, but his soulmate wrote him a letter in a language he doesn't speak, and it feels like a brick wall between himself and his own bond.

They take Chanyeol to a café, where they both order coffees and Chanyeol orders nothing even though they offer to buy for him. Chanyeol lays the letter out on the table, smoothing the creases and pushing it towards Lu Han. Lu Han takes it and smiles, pointing at the very top of the paper where something seems to have been written and erased several times.

"He didn't know how to address it. He asked me about that. I guess he erased it in the end."

Chanyeol nods, leaning forward.

"Okay. _Dear soulmate._ He didn't put that, I mean, that's what he erased, but whatever. _Dear soulmate_ ," Lu Han starts, pointing to the words as he reads them. He moves at a tortoise pace, mind working slowly while his mouth works quickly. " _I turned off the alarm clock, in case you're not a morning person. So good morning or good afternoon! I'm not sure which._ I guess he wanted to greet you," Lu Han adds, glancing up at Chanyeol. "He drew a smily face here, too," and he pushes the letter back towards Chanyeol, pointing it out. Chanyeol's chest flutters, a warmth spreading through him, and he looks down at Yixing's hands, awed by the fruits of their labor.

" _Welcome to Changsha._ You probably already know where—" Lu Han starts to interject, but Chanyeol is nodding him eagerly along, so he cuts himself off. " _I have lived here almost my entire life, except for my time going to school in Beijing. I know the dialect can be tricky, but I hope you will not have a difficult time getting around today._ " Lu Han tears off into laughter, Minseok cracking a small smile, and they both look up at Chanyeol. "Sorry, I guess—I think he thought you would speak Chinese. _Dialect_ ," Lu Han mutters, laughing again. "Okay, sorry.

" _I have left clothes on the dresser and meals in the fridge for you. If you need help, the man in the apartment directly across the hall is very kind and helpful. His name is Zhi Xiang, but he does work during the day, so please be mindful of that. You may also call Lu Han, who I have asked to be ready for today_ —that's me," Lu Han adds proudly, even though Chanyeol knows that already.

" _As you go through my life, you will probably find out several things. First, I am a nurse. I love my job, and it holds very much significance for me. Second, I love music. It is also a very important part of my life and I_ —oh, he put something…like a post script or something in the margin." Lu Han squints and leans in to read it. " _If you find my guitar, please be careful with it!_ Okay. It's pretty old, actually, so be really careful if—"

"Yixing plays guitar?" Chanyeol manages, his chest tight with excitement. He unclenches his hands when Lu Han and Minseok look at him oddly, and Minseok nods.

"He plays a few different instruments. He writes music, too."

Chanyeol closes his eyes and sits back in his seat, breathing deeply to calm himself. When he looks back at Lu Han and Minseok, they're glancing at each other with worried faces. "Sorry," Chanyeol says slowly, a grin splitting his face in two. "I—back home, I'm a musician. Too. I—that's what I do for a living."

Revelation smooths out their expressions, and Chanyeol may be seeing things, but he thinks they look almost…pleased by that. He smiles weakly in return. Lu Han looks back down at the letter, finding his place with his finger. " _Second, I love music. It is also a very important part of my life and I enjoy producing my own songs on my days off._ You know, he keeps recordings at his place. You could probably listen to them later. Actually, you two could probably," Lu Han gestures vaguely with his free hand, "you know. Compose together. Anyways, _Third, I love to dance. I do it whenever I'm not working or writing music. I can't think of a fourth thing, so I'll let you figure that out if we meet._ He drew another smily face, with one of those—" Lu Han gestures vaguely towards his forehead, "—sweat drop thingies." Chanyeol leans over to see it and laughs when he does.

" _I do not know what I will find when I wake up tomorrow. I hope that you are well and excited for me like I am for you. More than anything, I hope you are happy. If I wake up beside your partner tomorrow_ —" Lu Han stumbles here, glancing up at Chanyeol, but his gaze doesn't linger long enough for Chanyeol to dispel such implications, " _then I want you to know that I do not expect anything more than what you are willing to give. Let us make the most of this exchange! Whatever happens when I wake up, I hope that you are waking up cheerfully in Changsha!_

 _Be careful with my body and make the most of your day—Zhang Yixing._ That's—he really means all of that, by the way. The _great day_ stuff and _making the most of everything_ …," Lu Han trails off, watching Chanyeol contemplatively. "It's just how he is." He pushes the letter back towards Chanyeol, who takes it with a newfound reverence.

"He's going to wake up alone," Chanyeol says, staring at the foreign characters on the paper. He runs his fingers across them, feeling the indents where Yixing pressed his pen down too hard in some spots. "And he might hit his head when he wakes up." Lu Han's brow raises while Minseok's furrows, and he laughs at them. "I'm tall." It feels strange saying it in such a short body, but it's true. "I left him a letter, too. Does he speak Korean?"

Lu Han nods. "Some. He learned it after we met in Beijing."

Minseok raises his hand. "They both did, to help me learn Mandarin."

"And then I kept learning, after we got together," Lu Han adds, lacing fingers with Minseok in plain sight.

Chanyeol studies them curiously, his tolerance for other couples improved now that he understands his letter. "And when did you two…?"

"We got married almost three years ago," Minseok offers, smiling like a newlywed. Chanyeol warms at the sight, but he clears his throat.

"Oh, I meant—your exchange?"

Lu Han frowns then, Minseok averting his gaze. "We didn't. I mean, we haven't. Yet."

"Oh." Chanyeol sits up, surprised and embarrassed. "I'm—sorry, I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," Minseok says, waving him off with an uncomfortable laugh.

They offer to take Chanyeol out to lunch, who protests because all he wants to do is sit here and ask more questions about Yixing. Does he cook? Does he work out? What kind of movies does he like? Is he more of a stay in or go out kind of guy? How does he feel about pets? What kind of men does he find attractive? More than anything, Chanyeol wants to ask if Yixing is the kind of person who will give up his life to move for his soulmate. He doesn't, because he feels guilty even thinking it, but Chanyeol is just starting to get recognition in Seoul. He's closer to a record deal than he's ever been in his life, and he knows that he can't leave right now.

Lu Han must perceive what he's withholding, though, because he stops Chanyeol with a hand on his arm when they begin to part ways. "Be good to him," Lu Han says. "He's been waiting for you. He's—Yixing is the most selfless person you will ever meet. If you ask him to wait, he'll wait. If you want a long-distance relationship, he'll do it. If you ask him to move to a foreign country…" Lu Han trails off, fixing Chanyeol with a pointed stare. "And he'll be happy no matter what he does, as long as you're good to him. So just…"

"Be good to him," Chanyeol finishes, his voice choked.

"Yeah." Lu Han drops his hand, and Minseok takes it. He smiles silently, and they bow before turning away. Chanyeol starts his own walk back, glancing over his shoulder at them every once in awhile until he can no longer see them. Married, and they don't even know if they're soulmates yet. That must be love.

He gets back to the apartment, stopping at the front desk to ask what floor he's on, and he goes to the fridge first. Yixing has prepared several different dishes, all of which are labeled for him in a language he can't read. He pops the tops of the tupperwear containers and sniffs to choose his lunch, but it's not as easy as he thought it would be. It all smells amazing, and he ends up picking randomly rather than trying to narrow it down. He even moans when he takes the first bite of whatever he chose, some sort of stir fry, and he desperately wants to be back in his own body just so he properly bribe Yixing for the recipe.

Chanyeol cleans up his dishes when he's done, rinsing them thoroughly and laying them amongst the others that Yixing has left in the sink. He opens up all of the drawers and cabinets in the kitchen before deciding that he'd much rather be doing this in the bedroom, and after only a moment of hesitation, he decides that he might as well. After all, he wouldn't mind if Yixing did the same in his bedroom. The first thing he searches for are Yixing's recordings and a CD player. Chanyeol chokes up when he hears his soulmate's voice, his bluesy guitar picking. It takes a moment, but he swallows down the emotion in his throat and starts pulling at Yixing's dresser curiously.

The top drawer is all scrubs. Some are pushed away to the back, blandly colored and embroidered with school crests. Chanyeol smiles, amused that Yixing must have kept his student uniforms. The ones closer to the front are also mild in color, but they're well-worn and soft. Probably from being washed often. There are some in the middle that have outlandish patterns on them (Chanyeol appreciates a very loud Mickey Mouse-themed pair for awhile) that Chanyeol wonders if Yixing wears anymore (as well as why he wore them in the first place).

Another drawer is shirts, many of which are tank tops. Chanyeol laughs and rifles through them. He wonders if Yixing wears tank tops even in the winter. He must have an impressive pullover collection if he does. A third drawer holds a few pairs of jeans, some shorts, and an abundance of sweatpants, and the last drawer is an untidy assortment of socks, underwear, and undershirts.

Chanyeol pushes all the drawers back into place and slumps over to the edge of the bed. He pulls reluctantly at the drawers of the bedside table, unsure of whether or not he's allowed, but then he thinks that if he's inspecting the rest of the bedroom, Yixing will probably assume that he looked here as well, so he does. It's normal, for the most part. More socks and a couple pairs of underwear that have strayed from the underwear drawer. In the top drawer, there are headphones, some loose change, notebooks, pens, and—of course. Lubricant and condoms. Chanyeol smiles, feeling victorious. He picks up the condoms, trying to figure out what he can expect from Yixing by their size the same way he does with men in bars, and then it comes to him.

He's in Yixing's _body_. He drops the condoms abruptly and looks down at his crotch—Yixing's crotch—and immediately feels shocked and guilty. It's not like Yixing can really consent to touching himself today. That would be all Chanyeol. He knows that in Korea, it's outright illegal to go around having sex with other people during the exchange, but he's never heard much about the fuzzy lines around masturbation. He knows that if he's doubting, he shouldn't, but curiosity has taken hold of him.

The idea to shower comes in an epiphany. It's not like Chanyeol doesn't need it, anyways. He's sweated so terribly in the Changsha heat that he thinks he can smell himself without even lifting his arms. He throws his clothes into the overflowing hamper and keeps his eyes ahead until he gets to the bathroom, and he looks in the mirror.

It's everything he expected. Yixing's chest, his sculpted abdomen, his sharp hips. His _cock_. Chanyeol has never gotten hard from looking at himself before, but he's not really looking at himself right now. He's staring at his soulmate, who has the most beautiful body he's ever seen in his life. He wants nothing more than to run his hands down it, kiss it until it blossoms with blushes, mark it with his fingers and teeth. Make it his.

Instead of indulging in his fantasies, he turns around to get a glimpse at Yixing's ass, and he's not disappointed. _Dancer_ , he thinks, smiling proudly. That's going to be his, too. He actually showers when he's done marveling, loving the mellow scent of Yixing's body wash, the freshness of his shampoo. He showers quickly, because Chanyeol is not in the habit of lingering in his showers, but he also hesitates before turning the water off.

It's impulsive, and he thinks that it could be something he regrets later, but he does it. He touches himself. And it's _wonderful_. Not because he's very good at it, because Yixing's body is so much different than his and he's having trouble figuring it out, but because he's _touching Yixing_. He has some difficulty determining how to fit his significantly smaller hands around his cock, but he gets it, and when he does, he has to lean against the wall of the shower to keep from sliding down. He fantasizes about being back in his own body and having Yixing beneath him, moaning the same way he is right now, and he comes so hard he's dizzy with it.

"Fuck," he gasps in Yixing's voice. He has to reach up to steady himself because he sounds so fucked out, so pleased, that he thinks he could almost get hard again just by listening to himself talk.

Chanyeol doesn't try. He shuts off the water and dries himself delicately, still sensitive. He roots around in Yixing's dresser and his closet for something to lounge in. The afternoon is fading into evening by the time he's finished, the music from the CD player has stopped, and his stomach is growling again. He picks another tupperwear container from the fridge without bothering to sniff it this time, assured that whatever it is, it will be amazing. It is.

He eats in front of the television, even though all of the channels are in Chinese. He puts on the news and doesn't watch it, more engrossed in his thoughts about Yixing. Some of them are apprehensive, like his worries about how they will be together when they're so far apart. Some of them are shameful, because it's impossible to stop thinking about how wonderful Yixing felt beneath his hands. Mostly, they're excited. His heart keeps accelerating whenever he thinks about it, meeting Yixing after this. Zhang Yixing, a nurse from Changsha, whose address Chanyeol has memorized so that he can find it later, when he's back in his own body.

He's smiling at the wall in a daze when Yixing's phone starts buzzing, and Chanyeol considers just letting it go to voicemail until he sees the caller information. It's a foreign number. A _Korean_ number. That's _Chanyeol's_ phone number. He stares at it for a moment before laughing, fully and deeply, and answering.

"Hello?" he says in Korean in Yixing's voice, and it feels very strange all of the sudden.

"Hi," his own voice says back to him, deep and alien after he's been parted from it for so long. "Do you speak Chinese?"

"No," he admits. "Sorry."

He laughs on the other line, or Yixing laughs inside of him, and it's strange. "I had to relearn Korean all morning to understand your letter."

"I had to find a translator," Chanyeol admits. "Did my letter—I mean, did you figure it out?"

"Mostly, yes. You're a musician," Yixing says delightedly.

"You are, too." They lull into a silence, and Chanyeol takes this opportunity to say, "You know, I never even thought to call you. I feel so dumb."

Yixing laughs. "It's not very romantic, is it? Or," he stumbles, "like the stories. Like—mysterious. Passionate? Using clues and letters? It feels like a shortcut."

"To be fair," Chanyeol says placatingly, "most of those stories have soulmates who speak the same language."

"I'll keep working on my Korean," Yixing says, and Chanyeol's stomach clenches. _He'll be happy no matter what he does, as long as you're good to him._

"Yah, Yixing," Chanyeol whines into the phone, "I should probably learn Chinese, too. You can teach me, right?"

Chanyeol realizes that when Yixing laughs, it's in his voice, but it's not his laugh. He tries to listen to it more closely, to understand how it might sound in Yixing's voice, but Yixing is speaking again and he doesn't really get the chance. "I could teach you, if you want." Chanyeol is about to say that he does want, very much, because he thinks it would make Yixing happy, but Yixing cuts him off with a yawn. "Sorry, it's not even that late, but I'm normally in bed by now."

"Early to bed, early to rise?"

"My shifts usually start at five."

"Oh," Chanyeol says, dumbstruck for a moment. " _Wow_ ," he manages a moment later. "Well…we have each other's phone numbers now. You can…I'll let you go to sleep."

"Okay, Chanyeol." Chanyeol's stomach does flips, hearing Yixing call him by his name. "It was really good getting to see your apartment and your friend. I can't wait to actually meet you."

"You too," Chanyeol says, because if he says anymore he isn't sure he'll be able to stop. "Good night."

"Good night."

Yixing has already hung up by the time Chanyeol has begun to worry about which friend he's referring to. He spends the rest of the night praying that it wasn't Baekhyun.

 

Chanyeol has his guitar case strung across his back because he came straight here from the studio. He tries to stand out of the way because he's already hit several people with it on the train, and he's trying not to earn any bad karma right before he meets Yixing. People are streaming all around him, moving between luggage carousels, greeting loved ones, sitting down for a break after long days of travel. Chanyeol checks his phone compulsively, waiting for a text from Yixing. He hasn't heard from him since the plane landed twenty minutes ago.

"You're even taller in person," someone says behind him, and Chanyeol whirls around, almost knocking a woman out with his case. He apologizes to her before looking at Yixing, who is hiding a laughing smile behind his small hands. Chanyeol is helpless to smile back.

"You're—shorter in person," Chanyeol retorts lamely, but he opens his arms up and Yixing doesn't hesitate before stepping into them. "Do you already have your bag?"

"No. I was looking for you."

Chanyeol hums his response, knowing that he should let Yixing go so that he can get his luggage and they can leave, but he doesn't. He doesn't want to. He feels warm with Yixing in his arms; he feels _right_. It's the bond, but that doesn't make it feel any less real or demanding. To be fair, Yixing doesn't try to pull away at all, just presses his face into the breadth of his chest and exhales like he's relieved.

Yixing says something into the fabric of his t-shirt that Chanyeol can't hear, so he squirms until Yixing pulls away and repeats himself. "Is it weird that this feels so good?" he asks, and Chanyeol shrugs.

"I don't know. You're my first soulmate."

Yixing laughs and thumps his hand lightly against Chanyeol's shoulder. Chanyeol gives him a winning smile and, while they're already parted, takes the opportunity to grab his hand and ask, "Where are your bags going to come out?"

Instead of answering him, Yixing leads him to a crowded carousel that hasn't started moving yet. It's another fifteen minutes before the bags start coming out, and ten more after that before Yixing spies his suitcase. He points it out, and like a gentleman, Chanyeol retrieves it for him, managing to not hit anybody around him with it or the guitar case. He smiles victoriously when he hands the luggage over to Yixing.

They catch the first cab in the line and when they get to Chanyeol's apartment, he carries Yixing's suitcase up the stairs. Yixing sighs wistfully when they enter, looking relieved. "Coming back is so…different," he says. "But it sort of feels like coming home."

Chanyeol's throat tightens. He doesn't stop himself from pulling Yixing close, holding him tight, laughing when Yixing thumps against his side for air. He pulls away, but instead of breathing, Yixing kisses him. Chanyeol clutches at his shirt, Yixing's body so foreign and so familiar all at once. They fall onto the couch together, curled up in each other's space, and Chanyeol's head echoes with Lu Han's words. _As long as you're good to him_. Chanyeol holds Yixing with awe; he never wants to be anything less.


	2. Yixing Holds His Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yixing holds his breath and keeps his eyes closed when he wakes up. _Let us make the most of this exchange_ , he had written. He isn't sure if he's ready to be awake yet.

Yixing holds his breath and keeps his eyes closed when he wakes. He knows he's awake because he can feel the pilling on the worn bedding around him, he can feel the weight of his new body, he can feel the sweat in the dips of his spine and in the backs of his knees. He knows he's awake, but he has no idea what he'll find when he opens his eyes. He has no idea whether or not he's ready to be awake yet.

Nobody ever told him how nerve-wracking the exchange would be. How he would hardly even be able to fall asleep the night before, kept awake by agonizing over how he'll wake up in his soulmate's body if he can't sleep in the first place. But this is not his body, this is not his bed, so he must have found rest at some point. Slowly, Yixing kicks the blankets away and sits up.

His soulmate's bedroom is small, and it opens directly into the living room. Besides himself, the bed is empty, and Yixing's stomach clenches, in relief or the guilt that comes with it, he isn't sure. He rises, his limbs feeling long and strange, and when he stands up, he knocks his head on a low, sloped ceiling. He crumples down to the floor, clutching his head as the ache spreads all the way across his crown. He doesn't feel so much guilty for bruising his soulmate as he does frustrated by it. Why on earth would his soulmate put his bed under such a low ceiling when he's so tall? He worries, for the briefest of moments, that his soulmate is not a very smart man.

Yixing sighs, rubbing his head as he stands up (more carefully this time), and he stumbles over to a floor-length mirror that's leaned up against the wall next to the door. Yixing's soulmate is tall and gangly. He has big ears and a big mouth and messy hair. And fuck, are those _tattoos_? Yixing bites his lip, tracing his fingers across them as he tries to read them in the mirror. It's no use, they're in Latin. Some of the phrases, Yixing recognizes. Others, he doesn't. He smiles at them, taken by how masculine, how mysterious they make his soulmate look, and he's blindsided by the sight of his soulmate's smile.

"Wah," he exclaims, his brow raising in surprise. He exclaims a second time after speaking; his soulmate's voice is so unbearably _deep_. It's the last thing Yixing was expecting from looking at him. He touches his smiling mouth, feeling its tautness beneath his fingers. "So handsome," he says to nobody in particular, his teeth playing at his lip impishly. When his soulmate smiles widely, his face screws up to one side. His nose twists and one eye scrunches up so that he looks like he's sneering. Yixing can't stop doing it once he figures it out.

He finds the bathroom quickly (there are only so many rooms in this small apartment, so it isn't difficult), and he blushes when he relieves himself. He brushes his soulmate's teeth, tries to fix his hair, and then opens the curtains in the bedroom to find that the sun has long since risen. Yixing scrambles to find a clock and mourns the fact that it's almost eleven. He _never_ sleeps this late.

His stomach growls, and he's not surprised. Yixing can't imagine how hungry his own body would be if he didn't wake up until almost noon. He stumbles into the kitchen, pulling the fridge open and finding several tiers of leftovers. Some of them look wrapped up, like they've come from a restaurant, while others are clearly home concoctions. Yixing foregoes digging through them to grab a carton of eggs and some milk. He cooks his breakfast gingerly, hyperaware of how he's using somebody else's kitchen. It feels intimate, digging through his soulmate's cabinets, even for something as simple as a pan.

Yixing scrambles his eggs and takes them into the living room because his soulmate doesn't have a kitchen table. On the coffee table in front of the sofa, Yixing spots his letter, and he picks it up as he's sitting down. He's glad he did, because his knees go out from under him when he reads it. "Aiya," he mutters, scanning the page. He can recognize some words off the bat, but others take longer to come to him, and he realizes why it's so hard to speak Chinese in this body. His soulmate's hangul is messy, scratchy, almost as bad as the handwriting of the doctors Yixing works with. He sets the letter aside with a sigh in favor of his eggs. He'll need energy if he's going to spend his morning translating.

It's easier when he's more awake. This body feels heavy, like gravity is stronger here in Seoul ( _Seoul! He woke up on the morning of his exchange in Korea!_ ), and it's harder to break out of that usual morning lethargy than it is when he's himself. But when he does, the letter isn't some incomprehensible jumble of dots and squiggles. Sure, it isn't the easiest thing he's ever looked at. It would probably be much more accessible if his soulmate's handwriting was as neat and precise as Minseok's. But Yixing picks up the letter and reads the first line without too much trouble.

_I don't know what to write_ , his soulmate begins, which tickles him. Yixing brings his hand up to cover his mouth while he's laughing, and it's strange because his hands are so big right now. He could probably cover his whole face if he tried. He does for a moment before shaking himself of his distraction, and he stares hard at the second line. _My name is Park Chanyeol, and I don't know who I'm writing to._

Yixing rereads the sentence a couple of times because it's longer and harder for him to understand. He has to sound out his soulmate's name to understand it ( _Chanyeol_ , he says more times than he needs to because he loves the way it feels on his tongue). _Is it weird if I say that I've been waiting for you? Even when we haven't met yet?_ Yixing assumes that he says _weird_ because he isn't really familiar with that word, but it feels the most appropriate. No, he thinks, because he feels the same way. It's not weird at all.

_I hope you liked what you saw when you woke up_ is scratched out and followed by _At least you can feel lucky that you got such an attractive, talented, charismatic soulmate._ Yixing is unsure of whether to laugh or roll his eyes; he does both. He reads over what he's read so far, gaining momentum as he moves on to the next sentence. _My talents include music, lyrics, and looking good._ Yixing clucks his tongue at the letter, but he doesn't say anything. He saw his soulmate in the mirror, he knows that at least Chanyeol isn't lying.

_I am a musician_. The sentence goes on, but Yixing stops here to dance in his seat, excitement overflowing in him. He tries to refocus, but he can't stop thinking about his guitar back home, his piano, his lyrics book, the folder on his computer filled to breaking with files of half-formed melodies. Something is right in the universe, Yixing thinks, that Chanyeol is a musician as well. _I am a musician here in Seoul, and although my apartment does not reflect it, I am finally finding success in producing my music. You are lucky that we will meet now, after the hardships have begun to pass._

Yixing smiles, proud of his soulmate. He imagines Chanyeol in this body, Chanyeol in this city, not only pursuing his dream but succeeding as well. For the first time, Yixing tries to estimate how many hours of travel lie between Seoul and Changsha, and he can't count them on one hand. Yixing lives in Changsha, he has all of his life, but Chanyeol is prospering in Seoul.

Yixing has been waiting for his soulmate. With an uncomfortable twisting in his stomach and his smile, he realizes that he's been waiting for someone who lives out of his reach. Beyond him. Someone who won't come to him if he calls. He bites his lip and stares at the letter while he thinks. He could leave Changsha, if he needed to. It's always been that way. He loves his home, he loves his city, he loves his country. But if he needed to, he could go anywhere.

He wonders if Chanyeol will ask him.

The rest of the letter is straightforward. Chanyeol tells Yixing where he can find the things he'll need for the day: the clothes in his drawers, the food in his fridge. He talks about himself a little bit more, and then he gives Yixing a couple of phone numbers for emergencies. Yixing searches for Chanyeol's phone, and when he unlocks it, it opens for him without a passcode. He types in the first phone number and dials.

"Yah, Chanyeol, I thought you said you were going to be out today," someone says on the other line when he picks up.

"He—I—is this—," Yixing stumbles, wanting to say more than he actually knows how to in Korean.

" _Oh_ ," the voice, Baekhyun, says. "Are you his soulmate?" he asks. He's talking slower now, enunciating better. He must be able to hear Yixing's accent.

"Yes."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. He put your number in his letter…"

"Yeah, for if anything goes wrong."

"Yes, he wrote that."

"So what's wrong?"

Yixing makes a noncommittal noise, playing with the edges of the letter. "Nothing. I had difficulty with his letter, and I want to know more about him."

There's a grin in Baekhyun's voice when he says, " _Oh_." Yixing's mouth quirks in a smile, knowing that he's called the right person. There are rustling noises in the background when Baekhyun says, "I'm at work right now, but I can be over there in half an hour."

"Thank you," Yixing says, ending the call soon after. He fumbles through Chanyeol's room for something to wear, embarrassed about invading his space but curious enough to open every drawer under the guise of finding a clean pair of underwear. He finds them in the second to last drawer he searches, and he goes back through all the other drawers again to find a pair of pants and a shirt.

Baekhyun arrives not too much later, looking nothing like he just came from work. He's wearing casual clothes and _eyeliner_ , but he's also wearing this smirk that is exactly the kind of thing Yixing wants to see, so he lets him in.

"It's so weird," Baekhyun starts, "looking at you and you not being him." He waves his hand flippantly, dropping down onto the couch like he owns it. "Anyways, what did you want to know?"

"Whatever you'll tell me," Yixing says, settling down on the floor opposite the couch. Baekhyun looks down at him, considering, and then he smirks.

"What if I told you about how he picked his nose until we were in high school?"

Yixing has a good poker face. He has seen firsthand bodily horrors that most people don't even see in movies; there's not one function of the body that can disgust him anymore. Besides, if Chanyeol has since ceased that bad habit, Yixing can certainly forgive him. Baekhyun deflates a little bit when Yixing doesn't react, but there's also something approving in his eyes.

"He didn't," Baekhyun says after a long moment. "But this one girl thought he did because he always scratches his nose really weird." Yixing's blank face breaks in a smile, screwing up to the side. Chanyeol's smile. Baekhyun smiles wider. "You like him already, don't you?" he says, his voice lilted and teasing.

"I think so," Yixing admits freely. Baekhyun smiles proudly.

"Good. He was so excited when he got his aura." Baekhyun slides down off the couch, leaning back against it when he settles on the floor. He's much shorter than Chanyeol is, and down here, he has to tilt his head back to look up at Yixing. "He won't disappoint you," Baekhyun says. "Sure, he's dumb, and sometimes he can be pretty insensitive, but you got lucky. You got one of the best guys you'll ever meet for a soulmate." Baekhyun holds up a hand, counting off good qualities. "Loyal, funny, happy. He's happy, _all the time_. And not even in a super annoying way. You got so lucky."

Yixing's eyes are watering, and he's blinking a lot to keep them from overflowing. Baekhyun watches him steadily, letting him have his moment. He leans forward, resting his head on his hands, and says, "You know he's going to be famous soon, right? You got _so_ lucky with Chanyeol."

"I know," Yixing says, Chanyeol's voice strained and pitiful. Baekhyun's smile widens, sharklike and predatory. But when he speaks, he isn't devouring Yixing. He's just sniffing him out.

"Did he get lucky with you?"

Yixing flushes, shifting in his seat. He shrugs. "I hope so," he says, which Baekhyun doesn't accept as a passable response.

"Who are you?"

Yixing hesitates, looking down to play with the fibers of the cheap carpet beneath him. He pulls at them, searching for the words to describe himself. Not only in Korean, but in general. He's a nurse from Changsha who loves creating but doesn't perform. He helps people he doesn't know, but in doing so, often fails to help the one he does. And sometimes he just doesn't notice things about the people that he loves that he should. It comes with the long hours, but it also comes with the way he gets lost in his head, too deep to be found.

"Yah, it's just a simple question," Baekhyun says, even though it wasn't. Yixing snaps to attention, looking up at Baekhyun, who's watching him. "Just tell me something about yourself."

There's a moment of hesitation, because there are a lot of parts to Yixing and none of them individually are more important than the others, but in the end, he starts with, "I play music, too."

"So you're a musician?"

"No, I'm a nurse. But music—" _Music is my entire life_ , he thinks in Chinese, but doesn't know how to say in Korean. Baekhyun is appraising him, his lined eyes narrowed and intimidating. Yixing shifts uncomfortably, feeling small despite being in this long body.

"He'll make you happy, then. Music is everything to Chanyeol, and so is making people happy, so he'll make you double-happy."

Yixing smiles. Baekhyun asks him more questions about himself ( _you're Chinese? No wonder you talk so funny_ ) before Yixing re-centers the conversation around Chanyeol, who Baekhyun tells him used to have brick red hair and one time twisted his ankle dancing at a party because he can't dance but refuses to believe it. He talk about how Chanyeol reacts to everything, and it's always exaggerated, even more so by his extended length. And he makes a special mention of Chanyeol's extended snapback collection. Yixing doesn't even know how much time has passed when Baekhyun stands up and pulls out his keys, only that the sky was blue when Baekhyun arrived and has since faded to a deep slate color.

"He's going to like you," Baekhyun says as he's heading towards the door. Yixing, who stands up to follow him, thinks _How could you know that?_ but doesn't ask. Baekhyun answers anyways. "I've known Chanyeol since we were toddlers, and I know what makes him happy. Honestly, you could have been anybody, and Chanyeol would have just been happy to have a soulmate. But you," Baekhyun points a finger at him, deep, beyond Chanyeol's body down into Yixing's soul, "you are everything he's been waiting for."

Baekhyun leaves right after that. Yixing doesn't beg him to stay, even though he wants to hear more stories, more punchlines, more about Chanyeol. He lets Baekhyun go and he ambles aimlessly into the kitchen, his stomach howling. Yixing is not unaccustomed to days too busy to be broken for food, but Chanyeol's body is insatiable and demanding.

Chanyeol can cook. That's something that he mentioned in the letter. He wrote about some of the things in the refrigerator that are still good, and Yixing roots through to find them. A stew, he mentioned. Something that Chanyeol had just started cooking when he got his aura. Yixing can almost taste home in it, like their connection somehow simmered itself into the meat and vegetables, into the broth.

Yixing cleans his dishes and stands at the sink for awhile, leaning against it, staring off at the far wall and wondering whether or not he's allowed to touch Chanyeol's guitar. He'd asked that his own be handled with care, but that's only because it was handed down to him from his grandparents, who gave it to him when he was still too small to play it. Perhaps Chanyeol's guitar is something like that, something more than sentimental. Something so much more.

After deciding that looking doesn't hurt anything, Yixing finds that Chanyeol has several guitars, and one of them looks much more used than the others. Tentatively, Yixing picks up one that doesn't seem to see much attention, settling it on his lap as he sits on the side of the bed, and he wastes a lot of time tuning it before he can even play.

But when he does play, he records it on Chanyeol's phone, and he sings to him. Whatever he can think of, whatever chords and notes and words that come to his head. Some of it is bad and embarrassing, a lot of it is disjointed and unfocused, but some of it is good, and all if it is everything that he's thinking and feeling right in this moment, at the close of his exchange. Chanyeol's hands are big and his fingers are long and playing in this body feels nothing like playing in his own body, but Yixing can tell that Chanyeol's hands are well accustomed to this. It's strange, and his music comes out strange, but he doesn't delete the recordings.

He also wastes a lot of time playing with the deepness of his soulmate's voice; doing impersonations, reciting movie lines, singing at registers he's never even dreamed of. He does this late into the evening, when his mind begins to think _bedtime_ even though he's not in his body or his bedroom or even his city. He sets the guitar aside, too lethargic to put it back on its stand, and he kicks his clothes off only after burying himself in the covers. Sleep is coming when a nervous thought beats its way into his head.

If Chanyeol is Korean, then there's a good chance that he didn't understand Yixing's letter. Yixing thinks of him, stranded in Changsha for a day with no way of knowing who his soulmate is, or even _where_ his soulmate is. The more Yixing thinks about it, the more it worries him. It wakes him up, and he reaches for Chanyeol's phone before he can stop himself. He dials his own number, feeling guilty because this isn't how exchanges are supposed to be done, but if his soulmate is in trouble, Yixing feels responsible for helping him.

"Hello?" Yixing asks himself. Or Chanyeol asks him, but it's his voice that he's listening to. He shudders, rattled by it.

"Hi," he says in return, suddenly aware of how the words he's speaking are not his own. Or they are, but they're different. Somehow, they belong to Chanyeol, too. "Do you speak Chinese?"

"No," Chanyeol says, and then, quickly, "Sorry."

Yixing laughs. _Don't apologize_ , he wants to say. Chanyeol sounds so pitiful when confronted with his lack of language proficiency. "I had to learn Korean all morning to understand your letter," he says instead, so that Chanyeol knows that he gets it.

"I had to find a translator." Yixing's anxiety quiets, then, a breath going out of him in relief. He was able to read the letter, then. "Did my letter—I mean, did you figure it out?"

"Mostly, yes," Yixing admits. "You're a musician."

"You are, too." Yixing considers telling Chanyeol about the recordings on his phone, but he's a little bit embarrassed by it. Before he can decide, Chanyeol says, "You know, I never even thought to call you. I feel so dumb."

Laughing, Yixing says, "It's not very romantic is it? Or—" _God_ , what's the word he's thinking of. He can see it in Chinese, but his Korean is failing him. "Like the stories," he supplements, scrabbling. "Like—mysterious. Passionate? Using clues and letters?" Lamely, he finishes, "It feels like a shortcut."

Yixing's voice is quiet and calming when Chanyeol speaks; Yixing wonders what it would sound like if Chanyeol were speaking from his own body, with his own deep voice. "To be fair," he says, "most of those stories have soulmates who speak the same language."

Yixing hums. "I'll keep working on my Korean," he promises.

"Yah, Yixing," Chanyeol whines, Yixing's voice sounding funny when he does. "I should probably learn Chinese, too. You can teach me, right?"

Yixing laughs. A little bit in disbelief, a little bit in elation. Baekhyun wasn't lying about Chanyeol at all. "I could teach you if you want," he says, his words stretched as jaw opens for a yawn. He holds it back for a moment before it overwhelms him, large and embarrassingly loud. "Sorry, it's not even that late, but I'm normally in bed by now."

"Early to bed, early to rise?"

Yixing smiles. If Chanyeol got his letter translated, then he's knows that Yixing is a nurse. "My shifts usually start at five."

"Oh. _Wow_. Well…we have each other's phone numbers now. You can…I'll let you go to sleep."

"Okay, Chanyeol. It was really good getting to see your apartment and your friend. I can't wait to actually meet you." The words roll out smoothly, exhaustion dragging them down. Yixing is hardly awake when Chanyeol says,

"You too. Good night."

He manages to mumble a quiet _Good night_ back before dropping the phone to the side and sinking into sleep. He dreams of being back in his own body, in Chanyeol's arms.

 

Chanyeol carries his suitcase for him when they get to the apartment complex. It looks much different on the outside than Yixing would anticipate from seeing the inside. It looks new, well-kept. Renovated, perhaps. When Chanyeol unlocks the door to his apartment and holds it open for him, Yixing looks around, the familiarity unsettling. It's like he lived here once, even though he was only around for a day. "Coming back is so," he starts, looking around. "Different," he finishes, because that's the only way to describe it. "But it sort of feels like coming home."

Chanyeol pulls him into a hug; Yixing stumbles but he goes easily. Chanyeol's chest is broad even though he's lanky, broad enough to smother Yixing until he has to tap for air. Chanyeol lets him go enough to lean back, and Yixing pulls him down into a kiss. Chanyeol clutches at him; Yixing loops his arms around Chanyeol's neck. They scramble for a level of closeness that they might never reach, but will never stop seeking.

Later, after they've taken to the bedroom and consummated the bond, Yixing lies naked in Chanyeol's arms. He'd worried that it would be too soon, that they were taking it too fast, and Chanyeol had stopped and asked him, point-blank, _Do you want this?_ It was so simple, so basic, that deciding yes, yes yes yes he wanted it more than anything else was easy. Admitting it was even easier, trusting Chanyeol to take care of him and not deride him for how much he _needed_ it.

Maybe it was the bond. He can feel it now, lying here. He can feel Chanyeol's happiness, which is a strange feeling because it's different from his own happiness. He's feeling content, relaxed, at peace. Chanyeol is ecstatic, and still aroused. He's not hard, but Yixing thinks that if he tried, he could lead him there very quickly. _Young men_ , he thinks, smiling. Chanyeol runs his fingers through Yixing's hair.

"I like this," he says, his voice deep and his words unaccented. The novelty of it hasn't worn off yet.

"I like it, too."

"I can _feel you_ ," Chanyeol says, shifting a little bit. Yixing lets him up, and he slides down so that they're lying face-to-face. "Is that weird?"

Yixing smiles. "No. I can feel you, too."

There's something on his mind. Yixing knows it's coming before Chanyeol says it, looking calm even though Yixing knows that he's embarrassed. "Baekhyun never told me what he told you during the exchange."

"All good things."

Chanyeol frowns, trying to look serious. "Actual good things, or good things like how I don't pick my nose?"

Yixing can't stop himself from laughing, curling up with it. "That was one of the good things," he says. Chanyeol covers his face and groans. "It's okay," he says, pulling Chanyeol's hands away. "He told me about how lucky I am to have you."

Chanyeol looks at him for a long moment, and Yixing stares back, overwhelmed by Chanyeol. "Lu Han told me to be good to you," he admits. _Nervous_.

"You will be," Yixing says because he's older, because he's wiser, because calming people is part of his job, but most of all because he _knows_ in his heart that Chanyeol will never be anything less than good to him. Chanyeol's chin trembles, and he pulls Yixing close.

"Baekhyun talks a lot," Chanyeol says, clearing his throat to steady his voice. "He's a good friend, but he talks a lot." He hesitates, trying to figure out which way he's going with this. Yixing waits silently, patiently. "If he didn't tell you, I want you to know that I'm just as lucky to have you."

Yixing smiles. He closes his eyes and nuzzles into Chanyeol's arms. His things will be arriving within a week, and he and Chanyeol will take the time in-between to decide whether or not they need to move into a larger apartment. Chanyeol's in the middle of recording for his first full-length album, and Yixing has just begun studying for his Korean licensure exam. It's a lot of medical terminology and language lessons, a lot of Lu Han and Minseok on the phone running him through grammar and conjugations.

But Yixing has spent less time worrying about the things they'll need than he has fixating on the things he has. A soulmate. A bond. Chanyeol's arms around his waist, Chanyeol's lips on his jaw, his hips rutting down against him. Chanyeol's arousal has finally culminated in an erection, which he grinds against Yixing. Yixing laughs. "You're too young for me," he says, spreading his legs anyways.

"I'm just right for you," Chanyeol corrects, and he's right. He's absolutely right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trynna think of a more creative name for this verse. failing ;-;


End file.
